The First and Second Dates
by buttercups3
Summary: A fluffy, chatty fic depicting Swaisy's first two dates. Scars come with the territory, but you'll see I have a different take than most on how this would have gone down. Dedicated to Daisy's biggest fan: Ellie.


_I know I seem prolific, but this fic is old, too. I cleaned it up especially for the most enthusiastic Swaisy fan of all time: Ellie! To you it is dedicated, m'dear! (If others wish to read the sparky bits, visit my livejournal page.) I think I've gotten this as clean as any Bones episode, which are always rife with innuendo. ;)  
_

_If you've soured on Swais, you may not want to read. This is pure and utter fluff with a capital F!_

_Spoilers are for season 4. Disclaimer: Not mine.  
_

* * *

**The First Date**

"Do you play the accordion?" the chipper voice on the line was asking.

Lance laughed. "No, I play a little bass though…and piano. I sing. But definitely no accordion."

Daisy said, "Ugh, well my current soon-to-be ex-boyfriend plays the accordion. It sounds like dying cats. Piano? That's a sexy instrument."

"Uh, I'm glad you think so. My mom was a piano and voice teacher. She taught me everything I know…so this boyfriend. How in the picture is he, because, er, I was wondering if you would like to go out with me…on a date?"

After nearly an hour of talking to Daisy Wick on the phone, they had agreed to meet the following night for drinks.

At the bar it was quite noisy; Lance had to lean in and felt Daisy's breath warming his face. She was so petite and perky and perfect. He simply could not get enough of her infectious nervous giggle.

"So you're a psychologist for the FBI. Do you have your doctorate?" Daisy asked excitedly, like a puppy.

"Yeah, I have doctorates in clinical psych and behavioral analysis. I'm going to break the cardinal rule of grad student-dom, and ask, when do you think you'll be done with _your_ degree?"

"I'm well into research on my dissertation, so probably a few more years. Do you mind me asking," she looked up coyly from her eyelashes, "how old you are? You have two doctorates?"

"How old do you think I am, Daisy?" Lance asked smiling. He had been leaning on his hands, and as one elbow slipped from the table, his hand fell lightly on top of Daisy's. He left it there for the time being.

"Oh, I don't know, you look 23, 24 maybe? Sorry, if that is insulting. Sometimes I say inappropriate things. I'm working on it."

"That's not at all inappropriate. You are exactly correct. I'm 23, soon to be 24."

"Wow! I'm good. I'm 26, by the way. So, how is it that a person is a Ph.D. twice over at such a tender age, Lance?" she asked giggling again, but genuinely curious.

Lance could not stop staring at her mouth, which looked so inviting in the dim light. "I was, um, accelerated in school."

"I'll say!" laughing again. "You're a clinical psychologist—they love intelligence tests. What's your IQ?" she asked, her eyes wide. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable dating someone smarter than I am!"

"Daisy! I'm sure we're equally intelligent in our own ways."

"Spill!" she demanded.

"Well, I don't put too much stock in IQ tests, despite your stereotype of clinical psychologists. While my IQ may suggest I'm a genius, I'm continually stunned by my ability to execute stupid actions on a nearly daily basis!" Lance laughed.

"So higher than Albert Einstein?" she prodded.

"Geez, you are not going to let this go are you? Yes, higher than Einstein but technically his was not all THAT high. Let's change the subject. You look incredibly beautiful tonight. I'm inclined to kiss you."

"Please, be my guest!" Daisy responded.

Lance gently bent toward her and drank deeply of her soft, pink lips. He grew so overwhelmed that he could barely function. Dizzy, he pulled away and tried to calm himself by thinking of the corpse from yesterday, covered in poop. Then he had to work to forget that horrible image.

"Wanna get out of here?" Daisy asked.

Lance wasn't sure if this was some kind of sexual invitation, but all he wanted was to put his hands on her waist. He threw money on the table and swept over to her, obliging his longing. Her waist was tiny but strong. They went out toward the street.

"Did you drive?" Lance asked.

"No, I took the metro."

"My car's over here. God, Daisy, I can't believe I'm saying this on our first date, but I…like, uncontrollably want you."

With that Daisy flung herself into Lance's arms and began voraciously kissing him. Lance muttered, "Who lives closer?"

Daisy responded panting, "I can't wait for that. Open the car."

They piled into the back seat like a couple of horny teenagers. The whole event was over with shocking rapidity, and ended with Lance half flung over Daisy's small body.

"Stay like this for a moment?" Daisy asked, her eyes pleading. He obliged her and shifted his weight to the side so he could hold her, albeit awkwardly.

"I can't believe we just did that. I've never slept with someone on the first date before."

Daisy tousled his curly brown hair.

"And technically you still have a boyfriend!" he said, suddenly feeling guilty. "Are you going to break it off? I'm not so sure I want to share you!"

Daisy pulled out her cell phone from her purse below her. "I'll break up with him right now!"

"Geez, no Daisy! As much as I dislike this poor guy I've never met, that's so disrespectful to him!"

"All right, I'll call him first thing in the morning," she giggled, putting the phone away.

"For future reference, I can last longer than that," Lance changed the subject, smiling down at her.

"How far in the future?" Daisy asked, batting her eyelashes innocently.

Lance smiled at his new favorite person.

* * *

**The Second Date**

Lance couldn't stop thinking about Daisy all the next day at work. After their second union in the back seat of his car, he had driven Daisy home to her apartment. Apparently, she had several roommates—also grad students like herself. One was a musicology student and the other an anthropologist who studied Alaskan Inuits. Lance looked forward to taking in as many details as possible about Daisy—to understand her in the most minute components of her being. God, he hoped she had ditched the boyfriend, he thought, accompanied by a pang of jealousy. He had a desperate desire to see the inside of her apartment in the near future. He didn't want to appear needy, but by 2 o'clock, he could no longer resist calling her. Besides, he didn't want to be a douche who didn't call after…well, an intense evening of getting to know each other.

"Hello?"

"Daisy? It's Lance."

Daisy paused and for a horrible moment Lance thought that maybe she'd forgotten him. Maybe last night had meant nothing to her, and he was just one in a long lineup of one night stands. He heard a slight commotion and then, "Lancelot."

Lance laughed a little awkwardly at his new nickname. "I…um, so, I…missed you."

To his immense relief, she replied, "Oh, I missed you too. Last night was… HOT."

Lance blushed and beamed with pride. "Yeah, it was pretty great. Listen, I don't know what you're up to, but I was wondering if you wanted to go out again this weekend?"

"Like, tonight perhaps? It it's already Friday!"

"I would like that very much. But um…is your boyfriend still in the picture?"

"Nah, I dumped him this morning, like I said I would. It had been over for a while. I just needed a reason to quit. I'm not really the quitting type."

Lance said. "Oh, I'm sorry. If you need some time to—"

Daisy interrupted, "No! No time. I've been over him for weeks. Maybe even months. I don't want to waste _any _moretime on him."

"Well then, I don't mean this to seem forward, but I make a mean daal. I was planning on cooking it tonight. Wanna come over to my place around, say, 7:30?" Lance felt a moment of self doubt. "Or we could just go out somewhere! That's fine too." He said too hastily, betraying his buckling confidence.

"I love Indian food! And frankly, I'm impressed. I'm a terrible cook! Oh and I just Netflixed this new documentary on Aztec Indian bones! I could bring it over…"

Daisy babbled on for several minutes, describing what sounded like the most boring video ever conceived of by mankind. But the very thought of curling up on the couch with this tiny, energetic woman made any film bearable. Now he just had to make it to tonight. He'd better get to work. That curry took hours to make.

"Daisy?" he interrupted as gently as possible. "I have to get back to work, but I can't wait to see you and your documentary tonight." He gave her his address said his goodbye.

"Bye, Lancelot!" Daisy replied jovially.

Lance thought, I could get used to being re-imagined as an Arthurian knight.

Lance was cooking up a storm when he heard his phone ring. He had on a dark green Wilco shirt, ragged indigo jeans, no shoes; it had taken him forever to decide if he should dress up or down. He buzzed Daisy up and bolted down the stairs shoeless to meet her. In fact, he nearly crashed into her on the landing.

"Err, hi," he said sheepishly. He wasn't quite sure how to greet her, considering he had meant it when he said that she was the first woman he had slept with on the first date. A kiss? A hug? He already felt like a fool for practically running her down with excitement. His heart was pounding. He decided to take her hand and lead her up.

"Well c'mon. I'm on the 3rd floor."

Daisy looked adorable. She had on her long mustard yellow sweater, a tight turquoise top, and faded jeans. Lance looked back at her as he opened the door.

"You look amazing."

She smiled. "So do you. Green's your color." She giggled and produced the dreaded documentary from her purse. "Look what I brought!" He had to admit, her enthusiasm was infectious.

"Great!" Lance replied. "Dinner's just about ready." In a few minutes, Lance set down steaming pots of rice, spinach, and daal in front of Daisy along with a side dish of yogurt mixed with mint and a bowl of chopped mango.

"Just like India!" Daisy proclaimed. "Except, there'd be like a million more dishes and you would be a housewife, preferably with servants helping you cook."

Lance laughed, "You been?"

"Yep, I love India! I went there last summer to do some research. How did you learn Indian cooking? Have you ever visited?"

"Well, my parents were in the Peace Corps in the 70s—stationed in India. My mom taught me to cook. Unfortunately, I haven't yet been in the financial position to go, but I'm saving up. I've nearly paid off my loans from grad school. India's first on my list!"

"Oh, interesting. So what do your parents do now?"

Lance felt a bolt of sadness at the question. He looked down and put his fork full of daal back on his plate. Try not to turn her off with your sorrows, Lance, he thought. He looked back up at Daisy, whose hazel eyes were studying him with interest.

"My parents have passed away."

"So young?"

"No, in fact, they weren't young at all." Daisy's eyes were questioning but gentle. "I was adopted—at age six. My parents were already quite advanced in years."

"How did they die? When?"

"Wow, this is a heavy topic for a second date, Daisy," Lance said nervously. He scratched his neck.

"Oh. Right, I'm sorry. I'm not good about respecting personal boundaries. I know. I just, get excited and want to know people completely! That's probably why I got fired from the Jeffersonian."

"Well, I can help you work on that," Lance offered eagerly. "To answer your question, my father had terminal prostate cancer. He passed away right before I came to work at the FBI. My mother died a week later out of grief and her own illness. You know, it happens sometimes with long-term partners. "

"So recent…" Daisy said with sadness in her eyes. She was an empathetic soul, Lance thought, and he beamed a little through his own grief. He reached out and took her hand across the table. "I'm fine, Daisy. Thanks for your concern. May I change the subject?"

She nodded. Through the rest of dinner they discussed lighter fare—places they'd traveled, hobbies, the Jeffersonian. Dr. Brennan came up repeatedly, and Lance had to fight to keep patient confidentiality while appeasing Daisy's voracious interest in her ex-boss/hero.

"Do you think Dr. Brennan would have me back if I tried really hard to attain, like, the pinnacle of professionalism?"

"She might," Lance said, chewing mango. "She's got a generous heart, despite what some people think. Can I give you some unsolicited advice?" Lance smiled over at Daisy.

"Absolutely, it's not even unsolicited. Shrink me!" she demanded.

"Ok. I think you have a neurosis about connecting with people, and you come on too strong…for some. Not for me." He grinned. "I'm a little needy myself." He frowned. "Anyway, I would suggest that when you begin to feel wound up in social situations—you know, you catch yourself talking quickly, correcting superiors, calling inappropriate attention to yourself—that you take a few moments to breathe deeply. Just fill your body with breath. You just said you practice yoga. Imagine you're at yoga. Lower your voice, fill your diaphragm. I think you'll be alright. After all, the team said you are very intelligent—they just had a personality clash with you."

They had one with me too when I started, he thought.

"Thanks. I'll definitely try it out. First I've got to convince Dr. Brennan to give me a second chance."

"Something tells me when you're determined, you make things happen."

Daisy grinned. "Movie time?"

They gathered the dishes up, slipped them in the sink, and soon they snuggled side by side on the couch. Lance draped his arm around Daisy's shoulders, and she leaned her head on his chest. It did not take very long into the documentary—complete with droning English narrator—for Daisy to notice the gentle rise and fall of Lance's chest, signifying that he was asleep. Her giggle awoke him.

"Ok, I think we've had enough scholasticism for one night."

"Oh, did you need to go?" Lance asked, a little confused from his slumber and fearful that he had wasted precious time with Daisy.

"Not necessarily, unless you want me to."

"No!" Lance practically interrupted with an unnaturally booming voice. He blushed so deeply that it was apparent even in the dim light. "I mean, you want some coffee or something…?"

Instead she took his face in her hands and began kissing his full lips. It was ecstasy. Lance forgot all space and time and lost himself in this tiny woman. His hands removed her sweater and glided along her creamy arms.

Daisy pulled away for a moment, her hot breath on his face. "So, I wouldn't mind seeing your bedroom."

Lance's heart pounded, and he guided her toward his room. He was growing nervous like he always did when he knew sex—fully undressed sex, that is—was on the horizon. It was almost unavoidable that Daisy would see his scars. Would she be repulsed? There was no backing out now. As they entered his room, Daisy asked if they could light the candles next to his bed. Lance's small, gray cat, Knox, was curled up like a tiny blob of toothpaste at the foot of the bed. Lance gently removed his feline companion, saying, "Sorry, Knox," who stretched in annoyance and slunk away. Lance lit the candles. More light by which to view his childhood suffering, he stewed. He sighed aloud. His excitement from the living room had wilted at his impending misery. Lance plopped on the edge of the bed and felt Daisy lay behind him. She reached up and stroked his shoulder, then began to remove his shirt. Lance helped, fully aware that his naked back was now completely exposed to her. He cringed, waiting.

"Lance?" Daisy asked.

He slowly turned.

"Care to join me?" She smiled, though her expression meant something deeper. He could see that she understood, that beneath her smile was a deep, soulful kindness. He wondered briefly if life had dealt Daisy her own set of scars. It was likely, given her neurotic behaviors. She kissed his back encouragingly.

After a blissful and acrobatic union, the two had fallen off the bed. Both were completely bathed in sweat, tangled in the sheets like mummies, and grinning like fools.

Daisy said, "I'll take this as a sign that you're falling for me!"


End file.
